We are 3 days past the election. I don't know about you, but I find my soul sitting in a space of complete numbness that is occasionally zapped with rage and bone deep sadness. We are in the Holy Saturday space of our faith story. We have witnessed a crucifixion of hope. We now sit at the base of the cross in the dark- in the shock of what we have witnessed; weary, worried, unable to see what comes next. I have spoken with friends who are raging at God. I have hugged friends who cannot stop crying. I have heard from my child worries that as an adoptee, she will be deported. I have heard from LGBTQIA family a resolve to keep moving forward. I have heard the deep moans of grief and fear and the roar of resolve.
Holy Saturday, that space between the cross and the resurrection, where it seems impossible to carry on with the everyday and yet the world keeps moving around us. Pets still need to be fed, jobs still need to be done, bills still need to be paid. And, in the midst of all that we have to reckon with what has happened.
I have heard from many people, "how could God let this happen?" This isn't God's doing. This is our doing. We have been given the gift of free will. The will of the people has done this. It's easy to say, but not me- not my will. I would have never chosen this. And to a point that is true. But this rise of division, hate, fear of the other, a failure to see the beloved in each person did not just happen on Tuesday at the polls. This has been festering and lurking just under the surface for lifetimes and now it has come into full view. Now we see.
There are many among us who have seen this for the whole of their lives. Those whose skin is a beautiful shade other than white. Those whose bodies have the capacity to grow and carry new life but have limited autonomy. Those who love and live in ways authentic to who they are created to be, but who society deems different. Those who face micro-aggressions, systemic oppression, who balance carefully on the margins of society. They know. They are not surprised. They have seen.
In the gospel stories of the resurrection, those closest to Jesus see, experience, and tell of all that has happened. I think this is what we are now called to do. White people- if you consider yourself an ally, a supporter, an advocate- it's time to see, to listen deeply, and to experience. Shut up. Be present. Dig in. Walk with, don't do for. If you are shocked by the outcome of the election, invest in some personal introspection. How are you unknowingly contributing to systems of oppressions, micro-aggressions? What lessons do you need to learn to truly be an ally? Where do you need to step out of your comfort zone to actually learn? Set down your defensiveness. This is not the time to feel guilt about what we have not done, to defend or parade the ways we have worked to make a difference. It is a time to listen, to see, to experience, and to learn.
And then- we get to work. We engage in the ways of Jesus. Loving our neighbors as ourselves in big, but mostly small ways. Support the food shelf, the local shelter, the YWCA, services for Immigrants and Refugees, Planned Parenthood, the NAACP, and more with your time, your voice, you wallet. Build relationships, have conversations (and not just with those who see the world as you do- change comes when we can engage others). Live the way Jesus has taught us- upended the expected, seek out those on the margins, gather at the table, learn from each other. And cling without failing to hope. Because this my friends is the resurrection promise. After Good Friday, after Holy Saturday, comes Sunday. Hope will come in little moments, small wins, creeping in through cracks and crevices. When we see, looking with eyes that deeply know, hope cannot hide. Pace yourself. Tend to your relationship with God. Care for your own belovedness. Drink water. Ground yourself in nature. Step forward in faith and cling to hope. May it be so.
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